Lines in the Sand
by Reincarnated Poet
Summary: The ARC has fallen. Mount Weather is behind them. Clarke is about to find out that sometimes, you have to draw a line in the sand, no matter how much you care about those on the other side.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I had someone request a continuation of What We Must, but really, that was complete, but the idea of continuing in a similar vein was still there, so I figured I might do a little-or not so little-series about that type of world. Possibilities for after Mt. Weather, because I have no idea on how they actually-honestly, possibly-escape that. So, this was born. I hope you enjoy. Everyone in this fandom has been so very welcomeing and you all review fantastically!

Lines in the Sand

Clarke sat on a moss covered log outside of the drop ship. Men and women bustled around her, working together to figure out what the 100 had long ago established. ARC had fallen, and when what was left of the 100 had managed to find their way back from Mount Weather, the survivors had taken over their camp, clearing out the wreckage and replacing it with their own attempted colony. Their idea of a colony should have died with ARC station.

The delinquents had been welcomed for the most part. Clarke had been vocal in the argument that Kane and some of the others had brought up concerning whether or not they should be allowed back into a society that had ostricized them and sent them to die. That had gone well, at least. Clarke snorted as two women emptied a basket of hallucinagenic berries onto a square of tarp and tied it up. If the adults wanted to trip, that was on them. The rest of the 100 would recognize them easily enough after the first time around.

"Something wrong?" Abby Griffin asked as she sat down astride Clarke's log. Abby had taken to doing that, ghosting up on her as if nothing had passed between them in the past year. As if-

"No," Clarke lied as the women took the berries away. It was decided that first night they returned to find Finn living amongst the ARC survivors while Bellamy was tied up in the top floor of the drop ship. The 100, or Grounders, as they had started to think of themselves since Anya and Clarke had reached an unsteady truce outside of the Mount Weather compound, would not help the ARC survivors. Not now. Never again. That first night had been more than any of them could stomach.

_"Bellamy Blake is the reason that all of this got out of hand in the first place," Kane said, turning in a wide circle in front of their bond-fire. "If Cancellor Jaha had been able-"_

_"Bellamy Blake is the only reason that we are still alive," Clarke had cut him off, standing in the flicking light. The eldest Blake was still tied up in the top floor of the drop ship. The youngest was no where to be found. Clarke had felt a particular alliance in that moment, something that flared in the pit of her stomach. _

_"I understand, Clarke, that you feel compelled to defend him. I understand that young men can be very charismatic, but you have to-"_

_"Grounders!" she roared, unsure what had taken over her later when she thought about it. The 100 survivors had looked to her immediately, remembering the claim that day that they were grounders now, that they were no longer ARC but Earth. "Am I in any way blinded by the charisma of Bellamy Blake?" The laughter that came from them was answer enough. "Am I wrong in saying that we protect our own. Who went with me to find Jasper?" Bellamy's name was muttered here and there. "Who went to bring Octavia back?" His name fell with more frequency and furvor. "Who stood on that battlefield with the rest of us instead of cowering up on ARC station?" The answer was deafening. _

_Kane had waved his hands to calm the larger party, because down here, now, the delinquents out numbered ARC-Fall, a term that Clarke had particularly liked when Miller first coined it. They fell silent slowly, but there was a fire in their eyes, a unsnuffable will to continue to be what they were. _

_"I understand that you've all developed a society down here, but you can't keep living like this. You can't just keep doing whatever you want." _

_"Whatever the hell we want!" _

_The cry was met with laughter from the rest of the hundred. Despite the memory of Wells and Charlotte, the corner of Clarke's mouth quirked up in a smile. _

_"Bellamy Blake will remain in my custody until I decide he is worthy of amnesty," Kane had declared and in several long strides, he disappeared into the drop ship. The 100 had stood around the fire that night, silently watching as the rest of the adults went about trying to bring them into their tasks. It was Abby Griffin that was the first to approach one of them, and if it had been anyone else but Clarke, the united front would have crumbled. _

_"Clarke, come help me set up a med-bay in the-"_

_"No," Clarke said firmly. "Let the ARC handle ARC business." _

_"Until we get Bellamy, you do whatever the hell you want," Miller had said, stepping up beside her. Finn had looked out from behind Abby with wide, lost eyes, but he did not cross that gap. It was instead Jasper that stood at Clarke's other shoulder, Monty behind him. The rest shouted their ascent. It had taken several days for ARC-Fall survivors to figure out that "whatever the hell we want" meant something more to the 100 than it did to them._

Clarke could feel Abby's eyes on her as she stared out at the too-short walls that ARC-Fall had build around the drop ship. Clarke's eyes skimmed up the branches of the closest trees, and in the branches, she could see the form of one of Anya's grounders. They'd been there, day and night, since Clarke had first gotten there. Surveylance, no interference. That had been Anya's terms. Clarke had agreed for everyone. That had been a week ago, and since then, the only of the 100 that had broken down were those with parents that had survived. A mere four of them. Not enough to assuage Kane or Abby.

"Something's wrong," Abby insisted. "You've been staring at those berries like they were a joke for the past five minutes."

"Because you think you're going to survive on berries. The grounders have you so scared you won't send anyone out far enough to hunt. You're a joke," Clarke had replied.

"The last time one of you looked at something like that, we were using poison ivy to weave into blankets."

"And isn't it wonderful that your Ag workers figured out what it was?" Clarke asked, finally turning her eyes toward her mother.

"This temper tantrum has to stop sooner or later, Clarke Griffin!" Abby said, standing up, hands on her hips.

"Neither can Kane's," Clarke had countered. The two women had stood toe to toe for a long moment. Abby had a height advantage, but the semi-auto slung across Clarke's shoulder made her feel a lot taller. The 100 had refused to give up the weapons they'd stolen from Mount Weather, and she and Miller wore theirs nearly around the clock. Clarke look at her mother a long moment then, longer than she had at any one time since they'd found out she was alive. When she'd thought her mother dead, Clarke had been in agony over never forgiving her.

Now, standing toe to toe with a woman that was making the same mistakes all over again, Clarke came to a conclusion that shook her knees. She didn't forgive her. And she was strangely ok with that. Clarke stared at her mother a moment longer, trying to find some redeaming quality there that would out weigh her sins. Finding none, she turned on her heel and walked toward the gate where Miller and two of the 100 stood guard.

"Where are you going?" Abby called.

"Hunting," Clarke shouted over her shoulder, ignoring the protests that her mother made. Miller eyed her a moment when Clarke walked past him out the gate, but he fell in step not long after. She had to admit that working with Bellamy's second was easier than working with the man himself, but Miller didn't know when she was going to flush game from a bush. She couldn't tell when he heard something from the quirk of his head. Miller was a good second, but he wasn't Bellamy Blake.

The deer that the pair carried back between them was dressed by the 100 and roasted by the 100, and it was eaten by the 100 as the ARC-Fall survivors looked on with their edible grasses and berries-and didn't Clarke just anticipate the next hour when the hallucinagenic factors kicked in? There was still a hind quarter spitted and some of the softer insides which has cooked to something that Clarke didn't want to think about, but Miller had declared it theirs. The 100 did not help ARC-Fall. Kane felt differently.

"We share everything equally," Kane said, hands on his hips, his small pistol tucked into a holster at his hip. With the big guns behind them, Clarke didn't mind the pistol.

"Not down here," Miller said, cradeling that big semi-auto in his hands. "Clarke and I went and got this meal. None of yours eat until all of ours have."

"All of our people have eaten," Finn tried to assuage, his doe eyes darting around camp. Clarke glanced at him fleetingly. Finn was a good kid, she decided then, but he was still just a kid. On the ground, they had to grow up. They had to become...whatever they must. Finn hadn't done that yet, and it was clear in the confusion on his face.

"No, we haven't," Clarke answered, walking toward the spit and using a make-shift blade to saw off a large chunk of the meat. "The rest is yours, but there's a price."

"Whatever-"

"Bellamy Blake," she said simply. It had been a demand she'd made time and time again over the last few day. Each time Kane or her mother had come to her with a question or a demand, her price had been the same. They had not been willing to pay it.

"One hour," Kane countered. Until now, it seemed. Until meat-real meat, and when had any of them even had real meat before?-was offered as payment. Clarke had considered a long moment. One quick nod from Miller, and Clarke agreed. It would do them no good to continue with ARC-Fall if they'd lied about Bellamy being alive. Clarke took long strides past Kane and her frowning mother. She pushed aside the tarp of the drop ship and entered it for the first time since that day on the battlefield. Funny, she thought as she climbed the ladder, that day Bellamy had been stuck outside. Today, he was a prisoner inside.

Clarke popped the hatch and threw it back with a practiced ease. Up top, it was dark, but the large holes torn in the ceiling let enough moonlight through that she could make out the reclined form of Bellamy Blake. If it wasn't for the harsh glare he fixed her with as soon as her head cleared the hatch, she could have mistaken him for dead. That glare stuttered and disappeared as soon as he realized who it was.

"Princess?" he asked, voice hoarse, like he had either not used it or over used it for the past several days.

"Yeah, Bellamy," she answered him, climbing through the hatch with his share of the deer speared through the knife. "You have hands to feed yourself?" When he did not answer, she looked over at him. He had sat up, one hand bound to the wall behind him, staring at her as though he didn't believe she stood there. She crouched down in front of him. Still, that half-dazed look stared back at her. Thinking he'd seen the food, she held it out. His free hand came up toward hers, but it reached past, catching her wrist with the tips of his fingers.

"Alive," he murmured.

"The dead don't talk, Blake," Clarke said with more bluster than she felt.

"You were all gone," he said, voice still that hoarse grumble that made her ache.

"Yeah, went on a trip," she agreed, ignoring the way his eyes sharpened. Thinking about Mount Weather was dangerous territory, and her mind had to stay away from that corner of her memory. It had to or-

"What happened?" his voice was back, and his grip on her wrist tightened to that familiar pressure when he was angry and trying not to hurt her.

"Nothing," Clarke said firmly, shaking the memories from her mind and his grip from her wrist. "Eat. Miller and I made quite a scene to get you this."

"Miller's alive?" Bellamy asked, sitting up more and taking the offering. "Who else?"

"About fourty of us," Clarke offered with a shrug. "Some from the grounders. Some from..." Clarke cleared her throat. "Jasper's alive. Raven too."

"Finn was here when the ARC-"

"Saw him," Clarke interrupted, but Bellamy seemed pleased enough to keep eating. Grease dripped down his chin, and Clarke only caught her own movement when her fingers chased it away. Startled, she pulled her hand back, her eyes avoiding his that seemed to have locked onto her. "Kane only gave me ten minutes. Keep the blade. The ARC survivors found some interesting looking berries. You might need it if a grounder escapes in the confusion."

He tucked the blade behind him out of view. Clarke waited until he nodded before she crossed to the hatch and threw it open again. She left him there, but the tips of her fingers and her wrist burned.

It was only a few hours later when the first few started hallucinating. By the time his friend had figured out that there really weren't bugs in their tent, he'd started seeing snakes. The rest of camp followed quickly, and Clarke sat on her log chuckling for a good long while before Miller's shadow cut off her light from the fire.

"It was Octavia last time," Miller said. "Wasn't it?"

"It might as well be us this time," Clarke agreed. "Don't know where we're going to go."

"Figure he'll have an opinion or two on that. Maybe the sea, like we were talking about."

"I gave him a knife, just in case," Clarke said as she stood. With any luck, Kane and her mother-the pair of them had taken to haunting the drop ship like wraiths-would have partaken in the fruit course of dinner that evening.

As it turned out, they had, and Clarke had walked past her mother, who was talking with someone that wasn't there. She didn't want to think about who it might be, and she stopped listening after she had murmured her father's name. Bellamy was waiting for them, awake and at the end of his restraints, working the knife against the metal cuff. He'd slipped a few times, knicking his skin, and the blood had made the slide easier. Miller took over, and in a moment, Bellamy was free and hauled to his feet.

The two men shared something that neither would call a hug, but that made Clarke want to giggle like a schoolgirl. She led the way back down the ladder, ignoring the way that her mother still sat at the bottom, her eyes lost in something that still wasn't there.

"Never thought I'd look forward to seeing those again," Bellamy muttered, taking the gun that Miller offered. Clarke eyed the second a long moment, now bare handed and just standing there with his tattered beenie and jacket. He held his hands carefully still at his sides, as if he was afraid he'd do something with them if they weren't holding a weapon. A problem, that, but one that Clarke couldn't worry about at the moment. Miller was the better shot, and she handed him her semi-auto as easily as breathing. The weight of it was missed for a long moment, but as her mother sobbed her father's name, it ignited something in her feet.

"Clarke?" she heard the pair of them call after her as she fled the drop ship.

She ignored it. Just like she ignored a lot of things. Like she ignored that the ARC-Fall survivors were giving them wide berth. Like she ignored that Finn had been welcome among them with open arms while the rest of them had been kept isolated. Like she ignored that-

Well, she wasn't ignoring it if she considered it again, was she?

The familiar heat of Bellamy a few paces behind her was a welcome thing as they crossed the distance to the gate. It went unsaid that they would have to find somewhere to hide the eldest Blake sibling, and the three of them slipped through the woods without words. It wasn't long before Clarke realized she was the one in front, that Bellamy hadn't had an opinion that he'd voiced, that he was simply following her, trusting her, letting her be what ARC-Fall wouldn't let her: a leader.

She knew where her feet were going to carry her even before she stooped to brush the leaves and littler off of the hatch of the bunker. Her bunker. Her art supply store, and even as she popped the hatch, she knew that by showing Bellamy and Miller, she was damning herself, just a little bit. Because that bunker? That bunker might have had something more that the group could have used. Taking Raven there was one thing, the young woman wouldn't have wanted to go back there for anything, knowing that it was where she and Finn had spent their time. But Bellamy? Bellamy would blame her for withholding anything from the group.

She dropped down into the darkness, snagging the flashlight she'd hung on one of the rungs the last time she had snuck out for more pencils. She swept the area with the light, and after finding it empty, moved deeper inside. Bellamy and Miller still stood at the top. She'd insisted that she be the first down the hatch, and while that had been a battle-masculine pride and all-she'd won by the simple fact that she knew the layout and she'd left the flashlight.

Now, as she walked around, letting the light linger as she lit candles. She only had two of them burning and was working on a third when Bellamy's boots started down the ladder. She glanced over just as he hit the bottom, the third candle lighting everything up enough that she could begrudgingly turn off the flashlight.

"Could have let us know you weren't dead, Princess," he chided, grip relaxing on his gun.

"I thought you'd figure it out," she told him. "Come on, Miller!" HIs head appeared in the hatch, and he looked to Bellamy, who gestured him in with a wave. Always looking to the commander, Clarke thought as she finished another candle. It was enough, and lighting more would be wasteful. She eyed the dull haze and with an indulgent flick of a match, another came to life.

"What is this place?" Bellamy asked, eyes running over the different boxes and the dissheveled bed in the corner.

"Your home until we get things settled," Clarke answered.

"Yeah, but how do you know it's here?"

"Finn found it," she said. A smile flickered over her face as she crossed to one of the shelves. A mason jar of colored pencils still rested there. She had only taken five, and there were another fifteen in there. Two empty notebooks sat beneath them. "Do what you want, but these," she indicated them with a finger. "These are mine."

"Pencils?" Miller asked. Clarke fixed him with a serious glare. "Anything else you want in here, but you leave these alone."

"Alright, Princess," Bellamy snarked, a smile on his lips. "You two should get back. Sun'll be up soon, and I don't want this coming down on you."

"Right," Clarke agreed, and in a moment, she was up the ladder. Miller followed, closing the hatch and kicking leaves overtop. The walk was, as most things with Miller, quiet but pleasant. Until they came to the gate.

"Clarke," he said, drawing back into the shadow of the treeline. She sighed and turned, fixing him with a look she hoped meant that she wasn't in the mood. "We're doing the right thing." She froze at that, studying his face. Did she need the assurance or did he?

"We're doing the right thing," she confirmed. His shoulders slumped for a moment, and with the way something eased in her stomach, she realized that maybe they both did. Before she could say anything else, he was a wall again, Bellamy's soldier that had remained strong through everything that had been Mount Weather. A shiver of something ran up her spine, something that she wouldn't admit was more than a memory.

"Of course," Miller said, stepping by her and pausing only long enough to lay a hand against her shoulder. He gave it a supportive squeeze, and as if his strength could seep down through his hand and into her, that shiver was gone. She was Clarke Griffin. She had survived, and she would continue to survive. "Bellamy said to make sure you got some sleep." He said by way of explanation as he tugged her toward the gate. She went easily enough. Come morning, there would be a reckoning.

-Lines in the Sand-

"Clarke Griffin!"

"Well, Mommy's up," Jasper joked, looking over the flickering campfire that their breakfast was roasting over. Clarke gave him an exasperated smile as she picked at the handful of berries that she'd swiped from their store. With so many fewer mouths to feed, they had more than been able to replenish their supplies, but soft hearted guards had more than once let the ARC-Fall group take their surplus, and Clarke didn't want to think about a shortage. Besides, she'd packed two more handfuls in a bit of cloth with a strip of dried meat.

"This'll be a show," Raven muttered from beside him, nestled between Jasper and Monty. She'd taken up residence there in Mount Weather, after they'd done whatever they'd done to make her whole again. She'd a shadow to her that she had not had before, but she was alive, and for that Clarke might have thanked the Mountain Men. Finn had tried to speak to her a few times, but he had been vocal about his feelings about Bellamy remaining locked up. Raven had come to the-wrong-conclusion that it had something to do with Bellamy's influence on Clarke, which had cemented the last of the wall she had been building agains Finn Collins.

"Clarke!" Her mother's voice was closer, and it had that tone to it that said that she was no longer hunting for her and was instead closing in on a target. Clarke sided and heaved herself up from her position in the log. By the time she turned, her mother was there, mouth turned down into a frown, the lines around it and her eyes more aparent.

"What?"

"Don't you 'what' me, where is he?"

"Where's-

The slap sounded, and the quiet banter from behind her at the fire fell silent. Clarke could vaguely make out Miller coming toward them, that big gun across his shoulder and falling into his hands. Her cheek stung, but there was an odd sense of satisfaction there as well. "This is enough! I've been patient, but you've gone behind my back in this! You could have killed someone with your silence! You still could if you don't tell me what you did with that murderer."

"He's not a murdered," Clarke reminded her. "Jaha survived."

"He shot him in the chest, Cl-"

"Funny, because I thought you said it was Jaha that stayed up on what's left of the ARC to let you all get to Earth. You've got engineers with you. You had supplies. Someone could have rigged a timer. Raven, could have rigged a-"

"Oh, no, I'm not getting between Princess and Queenie," Raven said, hands up in a defeated gesture. Jasper snickered beside her and Monty ducked his head to avoid the glare that both Griffin women sent at them.

"He'd have killed the Chancellor. He'd have killed a man he didn't know. If that doesn't make him a murderer-"

"I killed a man," Clarke murmured, but the words stopped her mother. Clarke fought for a moment for the strength to meet her mother's eyes, but when she did, the look of shock there didn't hurt as much as she thought it might. "He wouldn't have killed me. He wouldn't have hurt me. I slit his throat with a scalpel."

"Y-you..." Abby trailed off a moment. "To protect the others."

"To protect the others," Clark confirmed. "But Bellamy shot Jaha to get on the drop ship to protect his sister. The Chancelor pardoned Bellamy Blake, but you can't pardon yourself. We can't suffer because of that."

"You bring him back here, and Kane will make that decision," Abby said finally.

"It's not his decision to make. Not anymore. Our leader was kidnapped. If somehow, we got him back, then I won't do anything to return him to your custody. Besides, if he got loose? He isn't about to stop and tell me where he's going. I hadn't seen him in weeks."

"Weeks? Why would-"

"That's not something you get to ask about," Clarke cut her off. "We're done here. You have patients, and I have hunting party." She eyed the rabbit that was roasting on the fire with a longing. Jasper fixed her with a look and nodded. She returned it quickly before moving toward the gate. She did not miss that Miller relaxed several feet off, his hand falling off of his semi-auto.

"Clarke?" her mother called after her. "Clarke, we've got to figure these things out. We have to-"

"On the Arc, there was the Chancelor," she said, turning back toward her. "You had your laws. You had a space station. You had everything you could have wanted, and your laws killed most of your populace and sent its children to die. Down here? Down here we have had to do what we had to, but at least we had rules that we decided. We've stood behind them, and we're still alive. Up there? Up there there was never a line, Mom."

"We can make new laws. We can-"

"You don't get it," Clarke said simply with a sad shake of her head. "You've already tried, and you're already failing. You've got the same laws. Kane and Griffin, making the rules and locking up those that didn't deserve it. Killing those that didn't deserve to die, the people that were trying to protect us."

The hunt was over quickly, mostly because Anya was standing not far beyond the wall. The Grounder gave her a long glance before turning and walking away, her steps even and measured, steps that invited a follower. Clarke obliged.

"They didn't come with guns," Anya said, voice firm but not unfriendly.

"No," Clarke agreed. "Something went wrong."

"Something went right," Anya countered. "I saw you smuggle your man out of camp last night."

"_You_ saw?"

"Lincoln saw," she amended. "He and his woman returned to us three days ago. The people of the sea were not as welcoming as they thought they might have been, and the girl missed her brother."

"I can show her-"

"She already knows. She's with him unless they've fought again," she said, a smile quirking her lips. "I did not want to, but I like her."

"Octavia is difficult to not like."

"Not like the newcomers from the sky," Anya said, and there was an edge to her tone that Clarke recognized.

"They're panicking. If they've done anything-"

"They haven't," Anya countered. "But they aren't doing well. One of mine found one of them on the riverbank." The look on her face told Clarke that whoever it was had been killed by either the river, one of the creatures that lived inside it, or by the Grounder than found them. "Mine tried to help, but the bleeding was too much."

"I appreciate it," Clarke said, staring off in the distance. She stopped walking, and Anya took a step beyond her before turning back. "We can't stay with them, can we?"

"You will die if you don't provide a better defense," Anya said, shrugging one shoulder. "You and I? We are at truce, but there are many other tribes, and territory lines change often." Clarke gave a stiff nod.

"They won't like it," she said finally. Anya stood next to her a long moment, just staring out at the forest with her.

"After the war, when everything settled, many tribes came together and fell apart. We only have one that remembers the war, and she is long blinde and most of what she says no longer means anything, but she spoke a long time about why the tribes fractured."

"There's strength in numbers, and they have knowledge that we don't."

"And you have knowledge that they don't," Anya countered. "You're not a child, Clarke Griffin, and as much as it hurts me to admit, you and the boy were better leaders than the ones you have now."

"Bellamy isn't-"

"Don't ask me to use his name, becasue I won't. I made a truce with you because you did not leave me when you could have. He did nothing similar."

"Can Mount Weather be taken?" Clarke asked, but she knew the answer already. When they left, they might have crippled the Mountain Men, left them locked in their fortress shaken, but the mountain would remain theirs. "Then we have no where else to go."

"When you landed in my territory, I did not take it back immediately, but I did try to take it back. In the sky, when someone took what was yours, did you simply give it to them?" The Grounders leader left Clarke with that, standing alone in the forest. When Clarke finally admitted to herself what needed to be done, she found herself outside of the bunker.

Sliding leaves and branches off of the hatch, she slipped down into darkness. Bellamy was not there, but as she lit the candles, she could see the mark of him everywhere. He'd gone through all of the tubs of supplies, sorting them into separate piles along the wall. He had a table of different things he'd scavanged in the woods, and she thought she recognized one of Octavia's jackets thrown over the back of a chair. He had faithfully left her shelf untouched, she realized. The most shocking thing, though, was the mattress that sagged in the corner, stripped of the sheets and blanket that had been there the last time she was in the bunker.

Time passed quickly when she had art supplies within such close proximity, and it was several pages filled with sketches later that the hatch popped open again and Bellamy's feet hit the metal ground. He had his short blade in hand, and when he saw her, he relaxed. Not a moment after, Lincoln dropped down behind him. The grounder seemed more at ease, and his presence was quickly shadowed by Octavia, who crossed the room in several long strides and wrapped Clarke in a hug that shook her back and forth, nearly sending both of them to the ground.

"Thank you," the girl whispered into Clarke's neck.

"What for?" Clarke asked, confused.

"Everything," Octavia replied, and in the next moment, she was gone and back up the ladder. Clarke stood there, confused and dissheveled from the hug, staring wide eyed at the two men on the other side of the room. Bellamy had an amused smirk on his lips, and Lincoln only stared on, a commiserating look on his face. Apparently, the Grounder had discovered that Octavia's emotions often came and went like the tide.

"You've been busy," Clarke observed, eyeing the room. Bellamy looked around, almost prideful as he nodded. The sheets and blanket soon were dumped down the hatch, and Clarke eyed them with a smile. "Spring cleaning?"

"They smelled," Bellamy said by way of explanation. "Someone used this for more than a place to sleep." The past flashed in Clarke's mind. Finn and Charlotte and two nights that ended so differently that they made her ache. When she finally let herself slip back to the present, Bellamy was looking at her as though he_ knew_ and Lincoln had busied himself with something on the table.

"I saw your sister earlier," Clarke said, and it took a moment for Lincoln to look over his shoulder, realizing that she was talking to him.

"Anya has been watching your people," Lincoln said. "But she won't go back on her word."

"She didn't." Clarke looked to Bellamy. "She said that we should take back what's ours." He looked lost for a long while, just standing there, hands at his sides as Octavia bustled around him, moving sheets and bedding back to the bed. Clarke knew that look, knew the fight or flight reflex in him that was strongly fight but had a tendency to slip just as completely to flight. She had seen it once in the past, and it had taken all that she knew to do to convince him to flip that switch back.

"That's their fami-"

"We made our own family," Clarke cut him off. "Down here? We're each other's family now. They can stay, but they have to admit when they're wrong. They're going to kill us, and we've worked too hard, Bellamy. You and I? We worked too hard to let Kane and my mother kill our family."

That self assured grin split his face into something that she both hated and loved. Octavia stopped tucking the sheets down around the mattress. She knew him well enough, Clarke supposed, that she knew what that look meant.

"Might as well," he agreed with a shrug. A chidllike hope was hidden in that frown of his that seemed to appear whenever he didn't want to admit that something good happened. As though if he smiled, if he acknowledged it for more tha a moment, it might disappear.

Miller and Jasper were on the wall when Bellamy, Clarke, Lincoln - because he refused to leave Octavia for a group of people that had locked her up for the majority of her life - and Octavia came through the brush toward the new fenceline. Miller stood, stalwart and still at the gate when they approached, but a wide smile spready across his face as Bellamy stepped forward. The big semi-auto that Clarke had given up was back hanging against his hip.

Jasper fretted, like Jasper tended to fret, but the calm that radiated off of the pair eventually sank into him. It was an incredible thing, Clarke thought, as she watched the mousey boy grow into a man. He had survived. Hell, he'd been more of a survivor than any of them, and he had come through it still as kind and charismatic as he had been the day they were taken from their cells. Of course, there had been a hiccup or two, but that was to be expected, and Clarke couldn't help but feel proud of him. She wasn't so blind as to not see where that confidence came from though, who fostered it and encouraged it to grow.

Bellamy Blake was a good man, no matter how much she-or he-didn't want to admit it.

She smiled as the gate was thrown wide and the three young men walked through, side by side by side. Octavia went through after them, anxiousness in her steps. Clarke couldn't help but stand back and watch. Lincoln stood beside her, and he hesitated a moment before walking forward. "You have all grown," he said simply.

"They really have," she agreed, taking that first step forward. It was his turn to hesitate.

"You all have," he reiterated, and he walked past her, leaving her to stand in the gate, wondering at the comment. She had grown, surely. She had evolved from the girl that had stepped off the drop ship, but in what ways? Her mother had seen the changes, and for a moment, Clarke had to wonder if the changes had been good.

_What we must._

Clarke shook the thought from her head and walked through the gate. Not far off, Bellamy and Miller were squared off against Kane, who was gesturing toward the drop ship. Abby was not far behind him, his shadow as she had been since they touched down. It was a sad thing, really. Abby Griffin had never been anyone's shadow, never known what it meant to back down. She had never been something less than adamant. Now, down here, in unfamiliar territory, she had wilted. Maybe, Clarke realized in that moment, maybe she was far more like her father than she realized.

As she crossed the empty ground to stand beside Miller, Bellamy, Octavia, Jasper and Lincoln, she couldn't help but feel as though she was crossing a line, one that once she crossed, she could never step back over. The ground might shift beneath her feet, it might tear open and suck her under, and yet, standing beside them as Monty and Raven and Harper and Monroe joined them, she thought that if the earth did open up for them, at least it was on their terms.

Sometimes, you had to draw a line in the sand.

Sometimes, you had to wait for someone to either step over it or leave.

The important thing, is that you draw the line.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hello all, I have been working on this for some time, which means that this one shot being added to Lines in the Sand is completely independent of the next season, which I sadly have not yet been able to find time to watch. I can only hope my headcanon is becoming canon, but we all know how often that happens. I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter of this piece. I was blown away by the feedback, and I apologise for taking so long to update.

A brother may not be a friend, but a friend will always be a brother.

Miller stared out over the space between them and the ArcFall survivors. Kane and Griffin stood there, with the rest of the survivors behind. Bellamy's shoulder brushed Miller's as they stood there, side by side with Octavia at her brother's other side. Jasper was a pace or two away from the girl. They faced-off a few long moments, drawing on each other's strength, against what was left of the governing body of Arc Station.

Miller felt adrift there. Not really sure if they would be able to stand much longer under the scrutiny of the people that had once lead them. More men and women gathered from ArcFall, and Miller shifted uneasily on his feet, startling slightly when Clark stepped up beside him, a hand on his shoulder for a ghost of a moment. There was a strength in her, that made him comfortable. It seemed to seep through her fingers and into his skin, permeating his chest. He set his feet and squared his jaw. If little Clarke Griffin could stand there against her mother, then he could stand against strangers to him.

"What is this?" Kane asked, dark eyes flickering from Bellamy and over Miller on their way to Clarke.

"This is a stand," Clarke said firmly. It was that voice that Miller had hated the first few weeks. That strong, unchallengeable voice that he'd grown to respect and even, if he were admitting it, be proud of.

"There will be no mutiny here," Kane said firmly, hand on his hip just above his gun holster. Miller snickered at the gesture. He and Bellamy may only have a clip left in the big semi-autos between them, but it would be more than enough to rip through any of ArcFall that wanted to differ.

"You're right," Clarke said, turning to smile at Miller and Bellamy and everyone else down the line. She took a step forward, between them and ArcFall. Miller felt someone step up behind him and hear the faint shuffling of more feet as a few more of what had survived of the 100 joined them. Familiar faces. Harper. Raven. Monty. Lincoln. Monroe. It was a power team, and even he could see it.

Clarke - the physician and their symbol of hope.

Bellamy - the rebel leader and laden with more responsibility than a person should bear.

Lincoln - a wild card that shouldn't be standing with them but was with the instinct to keep them all alive.

Jasper - doe eyed and small but more than versed in survival.

Monty - physically weak but mentally strong enough to remind them all of their humanity.

Raven - the last of the one-hundred, accepted by them and supported by her intellect.

Monroe and Harper - twin shadows that seemed to exude strength and determination.

As he stood there, he wondered where he fell. What he contributed. As Bellamy's eyes slid over him, he knew what he brought to the table. He was a loyal soldier. He'd been since the beginning, and he nodded to his leader.

"This is where the shuttle fell, you know," Clarke said, turning toward Kane. "This is where we landed and where we took our first steps on the earth. It is where we have buried our dead and made ourselves stronger."

"And we are very proud of all of your accomplishments, but-"

"You think we want pride?" Clarke asks, voice dark with something that made Miller shiver. He'd not heard that tone on her since the first few days out of Mount Weather. It had taken many long days and many talks amongst them all for it to disappear. "Your pride? We're on the ground, Kane. We're the ones you should try to garner pride from. You've failed more completely than we ever did with your poison ivy blankets and your hallucinagenic berries and your complete inability to feed yourselves effectively."

"All things which would have been remedied had you bothered to share your knowledge," Abby said, stepping up beside Kane.

"Because you made us learn them alone!" Clarke shouted, turning back toward them. "We can't do this anymore."

"No," Bellamy agreed. "We can't."

"You've got a choice to make," Clarke said. "Just like we all had a choice to make. You can stay here. You can toe the line, or you can leave. You can't do whatever you want anymore. There are different rules down here. On the Arc, you knew what was best, but now? Down here? You're a joke."

"We're doing fine," Abby countered, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Lincoln, how many grounders are in the trees?" Octavia asked. Miller stepped out of line enough to look at the man, whose eyes flickered up over the short walls and into the too-close tree line.

"Now? Ten," he said after a moment. "Maybe eleven."

"I thought you said that you'd established a truce?" Kane asked, turning in a circle, trying to locate the threat.

"We did," Clarke agreed. "But you weren't in the negotiations. Anya has let you be because she doesn't want another war. No one can stand another war, but you have to understand that you've had our protection since you came here. Jasper took a spear through the chest because he crossed the wrong river. We survived that. Octavia was taken hostage. We got her back. We went to war with a people that have known this land for years with nothing but our ruined drop ship and what we could scavenge, and we're still here! The Mountain Men took us all and-" She broke off at that. Miller had talked with a few of the others. No one had been treated the same, not really, but Clarke seemed particularly unwilling to talk about what had happened to her.

"And we escaped," Monty finished for her. Miller nodded. They'd escaped. It had been hell, but they'd escaped. Miller could see the ticking in the young woman's jaw, the clenching there that kept her from making a noise. Bellamy's shoulder bumped his firmly, and he glanced over at the older man. Dark eyes asked a question, and Miller shook his head firmly. Bellamy scowled but went back to watching Clarke.

"We did," Clarke said, seeming to collect herself. "What have you done?"

"We've survived our own hardships," Abby said, laying a hand on the now silent Kane's shoulder.

"Of your own creation," Clarke said. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you have one of two choices to make. You can step in line or you can leave." A muttering went through the crowd of adults. They feared anything outside of their walls.

"We aren't going anywhere," Abby insisted, and for a moment, Miller saw where Clarke got her stubbornness.

"Then you're going to have to be willing to step aside," Bellamy said, slipping into his role as leader. He stood beside Clarke, glancing down at her a moment. "Brave princess." Miller just made out the whisper, and he couldn't help but smile. He'd have to have a talk with Bellamy later, once this all was settled, and he had no doubt that their rebel leader would be more than uncomfortable with it.

"We can't just make them leave," someone called, and Miller sighed. Finn stepped around Kane. He took hesitant steps in front of Clarke, looking at her like someone might look at a frightened animal. Ignorant, really. Clarke might have spent days and weeks of her life frightened before they came to earth, in those years in lock up, maybe even before, but now, standing in front of everyone, Clarke was anthing but. It was clear in the set of her shoulders.

"You're one of us, Finn, chose the right side," Raven said firmly, voice more harsh than it probably had to be, but at least she was doing something other than mooning after the boy. She was an asset. Miller wanted to like her, but she made it difficult when she was so easily swayed by the Space Walker.

"There's only one side!" he insisted.

"No," Kane said, cutting him off. "There isn't anymore." He drew that little six-shooter pistol and held it out in front of him, staring down the barrel at Bellamy. Miller swung the big semi-auto around, a promise in the trigger.

"You do that, you die," he said firmly. His temples itched from the beanie. His shoulder ached from a hunting injury. He had sweat beading at the small of his back, and yet, as he stood there, he'd not move until something changed.

"You want to live together, we can all live together," Clarke said, taking a half step toward the line of fire. She didn't step between Bellamy and Kane, didn't make that play or belittle the strength in their leader. She simply moved, cementing her support of him and making sure to stay out of Miller's line of sight. "If you decide that you can't take orders...well. We will be back in three days. You have those three days to talk amongst yourselves, but at the end of them, a decision has to be made."

"We're not going anywhere," Jasper said firmly, but he was over ruled with a firm look from both leaders. Miller didn't agree. They shouldn't leave. Shouldn't give them time to think or plot against them, but countering each other now meant weakness.

"We are," Clarke said. "For three days, and then we're coming back, right here. To our home. We're going to take it if we have to. We've got to be done sitting by idly. There are other tribes and other people that might be coming any minute to see if they can capitalize on Anya'as weakness. We have to be ready for that, and we can't be ready listening to people too afraid to leave their own walls."

"You do this, Clarke," Abby said. "If you do this, you're starting a war with your own people."

"You're my mother," Clarke said, a soft smile on her face. "But you're not my family anymore." That smile fell, and Abby stared slack jawed at her.

She turned away from them then, walking toward where Bellamy and Miller stood side by side. She nodded to Miller, who gave her his best smile before nodding and leveling the semi-auto toward the ArcFall survivors.

"Three days!" Bellamy called. "Try not to cause too much trouble. We might have to live with these people." A chuckle went up amongst the rest of the surviving members of the 100 that had first come to earth.

"Bellamy," Clarke said firmly, eyes flickering from him to the gate. Miller watched him set his jaw, as if he was going to argue, but in the end, he bowed to her insistent glance, turned and walked toward the gate. He was leading them from their home, the brave soul at the front as they walked out those gates. That was the image that Clarke was trying to create, he was sure, but it also put the person that Kane might be willing to risk the semi-auto to kill well out of his way with several bodies between them.

Clarke remained, gesturing everyone forward with her eyes until Miller and she stood there alone. He considered her a long moment, ignoring the sharp look she sent him when he didn't move to follow.

"I've got the gun, Clarke," he said softly. "Something happens, Bellamy'd kill me." She frowned at that, but agreed without further comment. No disagreements. Not in front of the ArcFall survivors. Not even about each other's safety.

Out in the forest, Bellamy was leading them forward, away from the wall with Lincoln at his side. It was a small miracle, Miller realized as he caught up, that the pair had come together to cooperate after everything.

"If my cave has been left alone, I can take Octavia and three others at night," Lincoln offered. "If you can make do with the rest?"

"We'll go Clarke's art supply store," Bellamy confirmed. "It's close enough to get to the camp quickly if we have to, and it's hidden. No one's going to find us there if they don't know about it already."

"I'll go with Octavia," Raven said immediately, eyes down cast as they walked.

"Take Monroe and Harper," Bellamy added. "The rest of us can make due in the bunker." They moved quietly through the forest after that, splitting when it was necessary. Miller felt better with fewer people to watch as they walked. Lincoln would watch the women, keep them safe. Bellamy had hesitantly handed over his semi-auto to Harper, who had cradled it like a baby against her hip. Miller thought about offering up his own, but it made him comfortable there. It was a heaviness that he needed, so he kept it.

He brought up the rear anyway, watched all of them as they picked their way through the trees. It would be easier for him to cover them all from there than Bellamy from the front.

"Miller, you think you can find that hatch again?" Bellamy asked, loud enough for his voice to carry back to him. Brown eyes found him and held him firm, laying a responsibility on his shoulders. He nodded and took the lead, leaving Bellamy to fall to the rear and slow, grabbing Clarke's elbow to slow her as well.

Miller sighed into the air. There were not grounders following them, not that he could hear or see, but he was still uncomfortable relaxing in the trees. Leaving Clarke and Bellamy weaponless made him more itchy than he'd like to admit, but he knew the pair had things to talk over.

**-RP: Lines in the Sand-**

Clarke let herself to pulled to a stop by the strong hand at her elbow. She hadn't looked at Bellamy since they'd left the gate, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes from her decision. It was a cop out, really. The three days she offered was only a delay of things, but she couldn't bring herself to just kick them out without warning, without a chance to do the right thing.

"Hey," Bellamy said softly, nudging her with his arm. He stood beside her, much in the way he always did lately, relaxed with his hands at his sides, purposefully not looking at her. They only talked face to face when they were angry, when their words had no other meaning but anger or argument.

"Hey," she echoed him, knowing full well what it meant.

"Look at me," he said, a hand at her shoulder. That was new. They didn't have these conversations face to face, never had. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was more angry than he'd let on. She let him turn her, and met his gaze with a set jaw. If he wanted to fight, then she'd rise to the occasion. She always did, and she was ready for whatever he had planned.

Except the soft eyes, worried and flickering back and forth between hers. The subtle frown on his lips. She wasn't ready for the concern or the pity there.

"What?" she asked, voice clipped and hard, asking for a fight. Begging for a fight, because that would be so much better than what else could happen if that spark in him that meant fire didn't light up.

"What happened at Mount Weather?" he asked. The question was firm, unyielding and everything that she never wanted to hear from him.

"Nothing," she said immediately, before her brain could process that a lie would be better than a denial. If she lied, she could magic a reality that was still terrible but better than what had happened. She'd heard some of the other talking. There had been starvation for some of them. Others were put in dark rooms with nothing but their own thoughts for sound. Still some had been beaten. Miller had been one of those, she knew. She'd tended his injuries when they'd escaped, afterall. He'd simply smiled grimly at her and let her go about her business.

She liked Miller. Miller didn't ask questions.

"Liar," he said, no bite in the word.

"What happened there happened to all of us. It was different for everyone, but everyone is getting over it the best that they can. Bringing it up and picked at scabs is no use to us right now."

"It might help-"

"It won't," Clarke said firmly. She couldn't talk about what happened. She really couldn't. Hands grabbing and that clinical white room. Whispering in her mind about the past and the future and everything in between. Cold and hot and light and dark and just everything that-

"Clarke?"

She opened her eyes and glanced at him, hating the concern there.

"I'm fine. We need to get to the bunker and talk everything out." She brushed past him, ignoring the lack of his footsteps behind her and the silence that seemed to soak into her skin. They had things to do. Living in the past would do nothing but bring up old wounds.

Bellamy's footsteps eventually brought him up beside her, and they walked through the trees together, ghosting around each other and any obstacles in their way.

"You can tell me," he said. "You've heard enough of my sins. I can listen to this."

"I know I can," she said, a smile in place despite her will to keep it gone. "That doesn't mean I want to."

"I want you to, later," he said. "When it's not going to hurt as much. But for now, I just need to know that you're okay." She considered him out of the corner of her eye for a long moment.

"I'm fi-"

"Not that you're fine. I know what fine means, Clarke. I want to know that you're alright, that you're going to be ok."

"I'm going to be okay," she said after a while. "I'm just not right now." He nodded in acceptance, and Clarke let them fall silent as they neared the familiar setting of the bunker.

The hatch had been shut, and Clarke knelt to open it as soon as it came into view. It wouldn't do to let Bellamy sit and stew over anything else. If he was going to talk to her, he was going to talk to her when no one else was around. She craved people, if only for that reason. She could see the glow of candles and hear the faint conversation from above.

"Coming down!" she called, and started down the ladder. Monty and Jasper were seated on either side of the small table, flicking little folded paper footballs through each other's upheld fingers in turn. Clarke shook her head and smiled at them as she passed, laying her hand on Jasper's shoulder as a hello.

Miller had sat down on the floor against the end of the bed, legs out in front of him haphazardly. He'd laid the semi-auto on the ground beside him and let his head fall back against the bed. His eyes were closed, and if she didn't already know he was a sonrous sleeper, she might think he was out for the count. As it was, he was dozing deeply, his beenie pulled back and dark hair was peaking out in front, falling across his forehead and into his eyes.

She sat down beside him on the floor, nudging his foot with her own. His eyes snapped open. One of his hands shot to the semi-auto, and she shushed him quickly. Bleary eyes blinked at her.

"Lay down," she said simply. "We'll wake you up if something happens."

"Not tired," he lied on a sigh, sitting up more and straightening his hat.

"You were up all last night and through the day before and after," she chided. "Doctors orders."

"Not your patient."

"No, but you will be if you don't rest," Bellamy said. He'd come down the ladder and pulled the hatch shut behind him. "We've got time. Everyone should get some rest."

"It's daylight," Miller argued. "Someone's gotta find food and we need to talk over what happened." Bellamy raised an eyebrow at the younger man, who had the decency to look sheepish as he pulled the semi-auto across his lap like a blanket. "Besides, man, I don't want to sleep on those sheets." There was a smile at the corner of his mouth at that and a suggestive arch to his eyebrow.

"Octavia washed them out," Bellamy argued, eyes slipping over to Clarke. She didn't even have the energy to pretend like she didn't know what they were talking about.

"This place is awesome," Jasper said. "If you two don't want the bed, I'll take it." He paused a moment. "Unless you want it, Clarke." She glanced up at him and then craned her head to look at the matress behind her.

"No desire to sleep there ever again," she said simply. "All yours."

"Sweet," Jasper said, and in a quick leap, he had nearly flown between herself and Miller and landed in a heap on the bed. It was an old thing, and is creaked and squeaked, but Jasper seemed content enough once he was burrowed into the blankets.

"Don't want to return to the scene of the crime?" Miller asked quietly. Clarke rolled her head to look at him. There was no judgement there, just a twinkle in his eye that said he was amused.

"Don't want flashbacks of something that turned out to be a mistake," she amended. "Not a crime, not down here."

"Should be," Bellamy murmured, taking Jasper's chair. Monty shifted uncomfortably across from him, the little paper football twirling in his hands. "If no one's going to sleep." He held up his hands to make a goal post, fixing Monty with a serious look. "Game on." It took Monty a moment to process the challenge, but it a moment, the little football was flying back and forth. Clarke watched them with half closed eyes, enjoying the pair of them so relaxed.

Jasper's breathing evened out behind her, and every once in a while, he would murmur something and squirm in his sleep. Miller remained sharp beside her, the gun in his lap. Quietly, she reached out and gripped the butt of the gun, lifting it from his hands and setting it on her other side. He considered her a moment before nodding. She gave him a small smile before reaching up onto the bed and snagging a loose pillow. She tossed it down on his lap instead and turned, leaning down and slumping her head unceremoniously on top.

She did not miss the stutter of Bellamy's fingers as he sent the paper football wide of his goal.

"You're trying to get me killed," Miller said quietly enough for only Clarke to hear.

"Don't know what you're talking about," she said, closing her eyes. "Someone wake me up when we're done avoiding the inevitable." She felt more than heard Miller laugh at that. She was vaguely aware of someone taking the gun from by her feet and the opening and closing of the hatch, but that was only somewhere distantly in her mind, on the edge of a dream.

She came back to awareness slowly, but kept her eyes closed, willing away lucidity. Miller and Jasper were talking quietly, as if to not disturb her. Miller made some gesture with his hand as he spoke, and she jostled slightly. They pair grew quiet for a long moment.

"You know Clarke and Finn got it on in that bed," Miller said loudly. His stomach shook with laughter as Clarke lurched upward.

"Miller!" she hissed, taking the pillow and hitting him hard in the chest.

"I'm kidding," he said easily, both hands held up. "God, I wish I was kidding."

"That is not-"

"Something anyone wants to hear about," Jasper said, but he had a big smile on his lips. "And Octavia cleaned the sheets."

"In a river," Miller said, face completely devoid of humor. "So now they have Finn and fish spe-" Clarke didn't let him finish the sentence, instead, lurching at him and planting both hands over his mouth.

"Alright, alright," she said, annoyed with the burning she could feel in the tips of her ears and cheeks. "Everyone in camp has sex out in the open or in the smoke house or during broad daylight and it's just fine, but I-"

"Why is Clarke killing Miller?" Clarke looked up to see Bellamy standing at the base of the ladder, staring at the pair of them with a quirked eyebrow.

"Because your second doesn't know when a joke is over," she said, letting Miller up and disentangling her limbs from his.

"Ahuh," Bellamy said, eyes flickering over to Jasper, who was sitting on the bed, legs crossed.

"It's probably true," Jasper said. Bellamy nodded and made a non-committal sound before turning back toward the ladder.

"Send it down!" he shouted up the ladder, and a half second later, the gutted form of a panther fell to the ground at their feet. Monty followed it a short minute later, and Bellamy had already drug the creature toward the middle of the floor. Miller was up in a moment, using a knife to start skinning the animal.

"Shouldn't we have left that up there?" Jasper asked skeptically. "I mean, we're not going to make a fire down here."

"No, we're not," Bellamy confirmed, pulling out a small box and a pot from one of the tubs along the wall. Clarke watched as he took out a small tank and attacked it to the box. In a moment, the junk had become a small camp stove. Clarke recognized them vaguely from the old recycle room on the ARC.

"Sweet," Jasper said, getting up and helping Miller, now suddenly alight with energy. Clarke let the men do their skinning as she edged around them to retrieve one of the blank sketchbooks and a small dark brown colored pencil from the shelf. She sat at the table with Monty, who seemed content after he filled the pot with a few bottles of water.

Clarke settled in to draw, sketching the room, the three young men on the floor, and Monty's profile as he watched them. She glanced up and down, back and forth, letting the pencil skitter and scratch out exactly what she wanted. The next time she looked up, Monty had shifted, turning toward her instead.

"You're good at that," he said, sharp eyes on the paper. Had it been anyone but Monty, she might have tried to hide it, but as it was, she just smiled at him.

"Thank you," she said, eyeing the sketch with a critical indecision. "The color's wrong for the light, but..."

"Beggars, choosers," Monty said simply and smiled.

"Exactly," she agreed. She didn't tell him that she couldn't stand the site of yellow any longer. There were three pencils all different shades of yellow, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to use any of them.

"I'm going to take some of this over to the cave, make sure everyone's okay before sunset," Bellamy said, lifting a large chunk of meat into a tarp and finally into a pack he salvaged from one of the tubs. "You guys got this?" he asked. Miller waved him off as he cut the meat up into chunks.

"I've gotta find some onions," Jasper declared, following Bellamy up the ladder. Clarke could hear him asking Bellamy if he thought Lincoln would know where some grew before the hatch closed. Clarke looked down at her unfinished drawing, filling in little bits and pieces from her memory. She looked up after a long while. Monty had moved to the floor, helping Miller to cut the meat up into small pieces. They were talking low back and forth, Miller occasionally showing Monty how to cut away meat from a joint or how to hold the knife for a better cut. Once and a while Monty would show him something about the anatomy of the creature, how something shifted to give them a better angle.

She realized, in that moment, that she could stay there, in that bunker, with these people, if ArcFall refused to leave. She'd said it before, to Bellamy, but they were a family. She had meant it, when she told her mother as much, but she hadn't really felt it until that moment, tucked into the bunker that first night. Jasper and Bellamy returned some time later, just as the sun had set completely. Jasper had arms full of little tubers and onions and some type of green vegetable that Lincoln had shown him. He cut them up with vigor and added them to the water pot before turning it on and dropping in great chunks of fat from the creature and the more manageable chunks of meat.

It wasn't long until they were all sitting around the pot, taking turns reaching in with the spoon they'd found in one of the tubs and a make shift version that Jasper had brought with him from Lincoln's cave. If anyone found it weird to be passing around spoons in a circle as they all ate from the same pipping hot stew pot, they didn't say anything.

They were family, afterall. What was a few germs between brothers?


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I have finally caught up (at least at the time I started writing this, but more likely than not, by the time I've posted, I'll be behind again) and so now I feel bad for underestimating Camp Jaha. But, this is the way the story was started, and this is the way it will end. In fact, this is the last "part" to Lines in the Sand. I hope you have all enjoyed this three part series. The 100 community has been remarkably welcoming, and you will see more from me in this fandom in the future. There's a heavy hit of Bellarke at the end, which I just couldn't seem to avoid.

Lines in the Sand - Part Three

Sometimes, Jasper wondered what he was doing, leaning against a tree while the rest climbed out through the hatch in the ground. He had Bellamy's semi-auto slung across his shoulders, eyes flickering like a hummingbird between the trees and the ground. It was an old habit, but with three of them in the trees and Lincoln standing next to him, he was more than a little itchy.

Octavia, Monroe and Harper were only a few paces off, standing around Lincoln and talking in hushed voices. Miller was filling them in, his own semi-auto trained in the opposite direction as Jasper's own. Clarke and Bellamy were still down in the shelter, and Monty was a few paces off, his face creased with a frown.

It was a day of reckoning. Jasper just hoped he was up for it.

He'd never thought, back on the Arc when they were stealing medical marijuana, that he could be this. This. First a survivor. Trusted with defense and offense and guarding the fence, and just pretty much everything important that a camp could need. Part of a rebel faction rising up against those of the Arc that had once garnered obedience. Friends with people like Miller and Bellamy.

He smiled despite himself as Clarke's blonde head appeared from the hatch. Friends with people like Clarke Griffin and Monty Green and a grounder they'd tortured not a year before. Bellamy came through the hatch, and Jasper offered the semi-auto back, but the man just shook his head. Jasper felt his heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Clarke things it's best if neither of us walk in their with weapons," Bellamy explained. "I countered that you and Miller should have them ready." Jasper eyed his smile, the lines between his eyebrows and around his mouth. Bellamy was worried. Well, Jasper wouldn't let him down. He leveled the semi-auto toward the camp, ready for whatever they decided.

Three days was a lot of time. Three days could be the end of everything for them.

The hike back was silent except for their boots on the ground and the occasional sound from the tree line. The wall had just come into view when Jasper felt the little tickle at the back of his neck that he'd felt each time the grounders were watching him. Normally, he would have to look for several minutes, eyes scanning the trees, before he could find them. This time, though, they wanted to be seen.

Anya and two of hers came through the trees from their left, dressed in complete war paint and leather armor, their weapons hanging off of them as if they were ready to take on the entirety of the world in just a moment. It made Jasper itchy, and the rest must have agreed, because in the next moment, Bellamy and Clarke were in front of him, with or without weapons. I

And if that didn't say something, he didn't know what did. That was a leader, he decided in that moment, a person willing to stand between their people and danger with or without a way to defend themselves. Someone that lead in hard times and in good times and in all of the times in between.

"Anya," Clarke said, voice firm but not unpleasant, a warning without being an insult.

"Clarke of the Sky People," Anya said, using a tone more formal than Jasper had ever heard from the grounders. "It is customary, with my people, to honor and strengthen alliances by standing with each other during disputes with other tribes." There was a faint quirking at the corner of the grounder's lips that made Jasper almost think she was human.

"You think this is a good idea?" Bellamy asked, eyes flickering between Clarke and Anya. Both women were staring each other down, as if the answer to anything and everything could be found within the face of the other.

"Yes," Clarke finally said. "If we're going to have an alliance, we're going to do it right. We should respect the customs of our neighbors."

"And scarring the new Sky People will make them more agreeable," Anya said. "This is Jakob and Nik." She indicated the two men at her sides. "They have sworn no harm will come to any of yours and are in support of the truce."

"Then let's go," Clarke said, taking steps toward them. Jasper winced as Anya clasped Clarke's hand, and he had to fight not to swing the gun around toward them. Before Clarke had taken Nik's hand, Bellamy was beside her, clasping Jakob's forearm firmly. It was a small thing, really, the shaking of hands among enemies, but it was the biggest thing that Jasper had ever seen.

The grounders walked behind them, a decision made by Clarke that no one else was really comfortable with. Jasper had to admit that he knew why. Someone on guard might see them and ask questions never, and wouldn't that just blow everything to shit. Their alliance would be fractured beyond repair if their white flag was stained red with grounder blood.

Jasper could feel Kane's eyes trained on them as they went through the gate. A few of the 100 were on guard, and from the way they shifted uncomfortably at the site of the three grounders made Jasper grateful for Clarke's forethought. Kane was standing with Abby beside their large bonfire. Abby's arms were crossed over her chest, and Kane had his little side arm out of its holster. ArcFall was gathered behind them, and as they moved further into the camp, the survivors of the 100 gathered behind them, even if they gave Anya and her two man army a wide berth.

"Councilman Kane and Councilwoman Griffin," Clarke's voice said, loud enough to carry. "When we left here, we made you an offer of people and gave you three days to decide on your course of action. Your time is at its end, and we are here for you answer."

"You had our answer when you left," Kane said, stepping forward, the sun glinting off of his side arm. "You offered us servitude or death."

"I offer you servitude or death," Anya said, stepping through their group, movements feral like a cat's. Her shoulders hunched slightly, the war paint on her face making her a wraith. "I am Anya of the Woods Clan."

"You're a grounder," Abby said, stepping forward, eyes wide. "Why are...I see." Her sharp eyes flickered to Clarke and back to Anya. It made Jasper uncomfortable, witnessing the writing off of a child in the eyes of its mother. "You're here to intimidate us."

"I am here in support of an alliance I made, an alliance that was earned in blood and sacrifice. You have no such claim to my people's trust." Jasper had to admit that Anya was a leader as well, one that was probably far more equipped than Clarke or Bellamy. And she had just lit a fire.

"These children are our people," Kane said. "As a leader, you understand that sometimes uprisings happen because the young don't know what is best for them."

"As a leader, I know that if my youth feel that way, I have failed. I also know that these children, as you call them, have been far easier to cohabitate with than to kill."

"We just want our children to come home!" one of the ArcFall shouted. "We need their help."

"We don't need to be threatened into giving up everything that we have!" Kane shouted, turning toward his people.

"You're the only one giving up anything!" another shouted.

"It's true, Kane," Clarke said. "You're the one we're asking to give up something here, and it's not much at that. We're asking that you listen to the people who have been down here while you hid up on your satellite."

"I am a member of-"

"You're the member of a Council that no longer exists," Bellamy said, voice that slightly exasperated tone that Jasper had heard directed at some of the younger members of the 100. "You're sacrificing the future of your people for your own pride and power."

"A leader," Anya said, interrupting Bellamy. "A leader stands between danger and their people." She turned toward her two men. "Do you trust me to lead you?" They nodded silently. "Do you trust me to protect you?" Nod. "Do you trust me to die if it means your life?" Nod. She turned back toward Kane. "A real leader would give up their power if it meant the survival of their people."

"You all seem convinced that this is the best course of action for our people, and I'd like to know why you-"

"When you landed here," Jasper said. He shocked himself by his outburst. Eyes turned toward him. Kane with disdain. Abby with a downturn of her lips. Clarke with a smile. Bellamy with a firm nod and something in his eyes that gave Jasper courage. "When you landed, you found our camp instead of making your own, and when you found it, you found Finn. Finn had to know that some of us survived, that we were taken. I don't see him not telling you that. You did nothing to find us. Pretty damning for a people to give up its next generation."

"We had to make sure that we were stable here before we-"

"In my Clan, children are the most important thing that we have. I am old. I am leader, but soon, someone else will be stronger than I am. Soon one of those children whose opinion doesn't matter to you will be stronger than you are, ready to take on whatever you cannot. That time, I think, has long since passed."

"This is not a grounder discussion," Abby said, voice thick with annoyance, and if Jasper could translate the look on her face, guilt. Anya held up one hand, calming one of her guards-Nik, if Jasper remembered right-and smiled at the woman.

"This is your daughter?" Anya asked, stepping forward and circling Clarke, sharp eyes flickering up and down the blonde. Clarke let her, and Jasper tried to relax.

"Yes," Abby said simply.

"This woman came into my territory to steal back a boy that should have died." Jasper felt his chest seize a bit at that. "She met me on a bridge, unarmed and was ready to talk about peace. She killed a man three times her size with far more experience because her people needed her. She made hard decisions while you were not there to mother her." Anya stopped circling and turned back to Abby. "She saw through deception and found a strength that most do not have to get her people out of their own graves, buried beneath Mount Weather. Would you be a proud mother or a jealous crone?"

Abby was silenced at that. The fight in her flickered and died.

"I am proud," Abby said after a moment. Jasper avoided both of their faces. It was a private moment, one that should have been had in a tent or out on their own in the woods somewhere, not in front of both of their people and forced into discovery by a woman that shouldn't have known them well enough to bring it to light.

"Then you should step aside and let the next generation, the better equipped generation, take their lead."

"I will not let my people be lead by children," Kane said.

"I'm of age to die on the arc," Clarke said suddenly. "I turned eighteen just after we landed. That is age of majority on your Arc. Bellamy has been for years. Is there a new barrier? Something that didn't exist up on your station? Is it because your conscience is gone? Because Jaha sacrificed himself to see your live?"

"We can't live like this," Abby said before Kane could say anything. She had softened since Anya's outburst. "We can't, Marcus."

"What would you have me do, Abby?" Kane asked, turning toward her with a softness to him that made Jasper uncomfortable. He couldn't imagine what it was doing to Clarke.

"A vote," the woman said easily, hands up in exasperation. "We put it to a vote. Elect a new Council."

"And who gets a vote?" Bellamy asked, voice clipped. "Our people are all adults here. We've all earned that right by being your settlers."

"Age of major-"

"Everyone," Abby said. "Everyone on the earth over the age ten." She met Bellamy's eyes with a firm, unyielding grace. He nodded.

"My presence is no longer required here," Anya said, slipping back among her two men and heading toward the gate.

"Anya!" Clarke called after her. The woman turned. "Be sure that we are aware of all of your customs when it comes to alliances and what is appropriate." It was a command, but it was also an olive branch. Anya's lips quirked into a smile, and she nodded before leaving out the gate.

-RP: Lines in the Sand-

Bellamy was nervous.

He wasn't sure why, given that he'd voted in one of these things in the past, while on the Arc. There would be a nomination for Chancellor normally, but they had decided against that only hours before. No Chancellor. No supreme decision making body, just the Council. They'd decided upon seven members, an odd number to avoid any tie in voting, and all seven members would be nominated among the people. Names were being taken by a recorder, one from ArcFall and one from the 100-Finn because everyone seemed to trust the doe eyed young man to be honest at least.

It had been three hours since people started making their nominations. Afterward, the name would all be given aloud and people would have a chance to discuss the nomination before the actual vote took place. He'd already made his nomination, handing the small slip of paper to Finn, who took it with a small frown.

He retreated after that to smaller campfire that the one hundred had made for themselves. Miller was seated there with Clarke and Jasper, and he eased himself down on the ground beside them, legs stretched out in front of him.

"One way or the other, this is about to be over," Miller said, dark eyes flickering over Clarke and himself.

"One way or the other," he agreed. "I'm sick of this. It will be good to have someone else worrying about you hoodlums." He ignored the quirked lips of the three others around him and stared into the fire.

"This could backfire on us," Clarke said quietly.

"Princess, could you, for just a second, enjoy yourself?" Bellamy asked, fixing her with a firm look.

"Last time I enjoyed myself Finn lead me to a meeting with a grounder, Jasper opened fire at a peace talk and we ended up having to blow up a bridge."

"Point," Miller said, tossing a small broken piece of stick into the blaze.

"When this is all over, we're getting you drunk," Jasper said. "Monty's moonshine will be back up and running and you'll have no excuse." Bellamy smiled at that. Wouldn't it be something to just...relax? For the first time since they'd crash landed on the earth? For the first time since Octavia had been discovered at that dance?

He sighed and looked over his people, the ones that he actually considered his. Octavia and Lincoln, standing not too far away, talking in hushed voices. Miller, who'd had his back since they'd landed. Jasper, who had looked to him to grow and learn strength. Clarke, who had fought him ever step of the way, made him a better person.

"Need a piss," Miller announced after a moment. "Jasper, you seen Monty?"

"No," Jasper said, eyes flickering up at Miller, who had inclined his head just enough to not be a natural movement. "I'll find him. See what he thinks about everything."

"Gonna find something to eat, you two meet me?"

"Yeah," Jasper said, and Bellamy could just hear the laughter in his voice.

"They think we have something to discuss," Clarke said easily. She was leaned back against the trunk of a tree that they'd drug into camp as a bench style seat. Her eyes were closed, and she'd a smudge of dirt across her cheek. Before the fight with the grounders, she'd made it a point to at least wash her face and hands several times a day. Infection, she'd told him, hid in that dirt, and neither had any place on a physician. Since he'd seen her step up into the top floor of the drop ship, she'd been covered in mud or blood or both.

"You can use the wash tent, you know," he said easily. "No one's going to blame you."

"What?" she asked, eyes opening to glance at him. He let his finger tips run along her cheek and again over her forehead.

"You've got to look worse than me," he said, knowing full well he was probably covered in the jaguar's blood still, despite the three days since he'd brought it down. Days in the forest since probably had him coated in sweat and dirt and tree sap.

"We're grounders," she said. "Being clean isn't the most important thing."

"Used to be to you," he said easily.

"I had enough showers in Mt. Weather to last me a few months," Clarke said darkly. The promise of violence in her tone made hm uneasy. "And no, Blake, I don't want to talk about it." He sighed and nodded before shifting enough so that his shoulder brushed against hers. They sat there, side by side as the light faded and the votes were counted.

Side by side. It was where they drew their strength, after all. Never face to face, because that was how they fought. If he had any say in anything, they wouldn't fight again. Their days of arguing over what was best with savage words and glares was beyond them. They'd learned how to discuss without fighting, and he had no desire to ever fight with her again.

"You know what would really suck?" she asked quietly.

"Hm?" he asked, eyes closed and head leaned back over the log, lolling in the heat.

"Kane could be elected to the Council," she said, drawing a deep breath.

"I thought that was given," he answered.

"Kane could be elected to the Council, and so could we," she said, voice cracking with laughter. He groaned at that, forcing his neck to hold the weight of his head and looked at her out of one cracked eye.

"Brave Princess," he said. "You'll be fine. It'll be me that Kane kills."

"Brave Rebel King," Clarke said, leaning into him just long enough to tell him she was teasing. "You'll be fine."

"Let's hope neither of us have to deal with him," he said. "Do I have to be a Rebel King?"

"That's what you've been since we landed."

"I'd like to think I've changed since we landed." He liked to think, but maybe he hadn't. Not really. Not in the ways that mattered.

"You're leading a rebellion against ArcFall," Clarke said. "That makes you a rebel if I've ever seen one."

"What does that make you?" he asked, a smirk on his lips. "Rebel Princess?"

"Hm," she said, making a non-committal noise in the back of her throat. "I was a princess when we landed. We overthrew the queen."

"Brave Rebel Queen," Bellamy said, leaning back against the trunk. They sat in silence for a long while at that.

"Yeah," she said finally. "I think I like the sound of that."

Bellamy chuckled at the ease with which she admitted it. A year ago, they'd have killed each other if given the chance. Now...well...

"Yeah," he agreed. "Me too." He eased one arm around her and rested it on the log behind her. He felt the heaviness of her head resting against his bicep. The heat of the fire wafted up and over them, and he relaxed, willing himself to just melt into the ground. Miller had been sitting behind them for the better part of thirty minutes, and he was sure that Lincoln had been watching them far longer, Octavia wrapped up in his arms asleep. Bellamy let himself doze, the weight of the world off his shoulders, if even for a few hours, and the weight of his Rebel Queen's head against him.

Life, for Bellamy Blake at least, wasn't as terrible in that moment as it could have been.


End file.
